


Angel

by Wildeh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anger Management, Crime, Depression, F/M, M/M, Mild-Schizophrenia, Modern, Other, PTSD, Pop Icon, Social Anxiety, Stalker, celebrity, singer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:19:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildeh/pseuds/Wildeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elijah suffers from extreme depression due to his life with an abusive mother. However, to cope with his depression he turns to music.  Due to his immense talent and voice of an angel, -stage name being “Angel” - he was scouted after singing at his school talent show.  He quickly rises to fame, and his dream came true; he finally thought he was free to overcome his disorder.<br/>And then the deaths start happening.<br/>Valentine seems to be the only person who knows what’s really going on, but Elijah has never met the man who is claiming to be his biggest fan.<br/>And the deaths are not stopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A project I have had in the works for several years. The first chapter was merely trying to introduce the main character "Elijah." This story has been hard because I do not know how to accurately write mental disabilities without overly dramatizing them. However I have come to the conclusion that I am just going to take creative license with my portrayal of how these disabilities are. The mind is a crazy place no-matter what level of sanity you are, so by that rule I can be free to write whatever I chose.
> 
> Still I would very much like some feedback. So review away. 
> 
> Story is unedited.

* * *

  


 

The happiest he had ever felt was when he was with his father.  
His father was truly a man of legends who would no doubt rescue him from his dungeon; like a princess, carrying him off into the sunset. The man had to have been adventuring the world searching for all sorts of treasures, accumulating mass amounts of riches. He was at the topic of the political food chain, defending the rights of the poor citizens and donating all his time to a multitude of charities. His father was a good man, who had used every blessed moment of his life to punish the villains that he mercilessly sought out and put behind bars. He was mysterious, never introducing himself and merely leaving the scene of the crime with a nod and a smile. An absolute saint, a hero. However Elijah never met his father, and instead he would let his fantasies run wild with him imagining this truly quite possibly average man to be some sort-of daring hero who had escaped the evil clutches of the ugly witch. That witch being his mother. The young boy of about thirteen years old, Elijah, was stuck living day to day with his horrible excuse for a woman. As such he was never truly happy even when looking like the ideal personification of ecstasy.

  
Elijah had his mother’s looks. Or at least what she used to look like. As an ex model she had always carried herself with poise and grace, her hair perfectly combed, her makeup perfectly placed.  
She used to be pretty woman with her blonde hair and blue eyes. Now she was of average build and overweight; which was no wonder due to the ever increasing amount of alcohol she put into her system. Elijah had to wonder where she got the money most of the time; he never saw her leave the house. Maybe her fall from the pedestal of modelling had led her down the road to prostitution.

  
No matter, the boy would be leaving the house soon and would be rid of that horrible woman who called out for his father in her sleep, would vomit on his precious new shoes he saved up for months to buy, or would even throw a bottle at him when he tried to confront her on her issues.

  
                His mother encouraged his talent when he was young, before her depression and alcoholism took over her entirely. She bought him a Fisher price keyboard and forced him to pound his little fingers on them till he achieved some form of musical number. She had called him her little Mozart sometimes. His dazzling smile would brighten the room. Through the honey gold bangs that messily hung in the three year olds face, his dark green eyes would shine with pride. Elijah was a beautiful little boy and as he grew up his looks evolved into absolute perfection. The boy was born to be placed in the limelight.  
Elijah barely could recall the memories of his mother taking him to the park to push him on the swings; rather those memories had been replaced by everything musical. The songs he grew up humming to himself, the songs he forced himself to learn till his fingers where blistered and numb and his voice was dry. He was determined to change his pathetic abused life into something greater.  
He had everything planned out. By Elijah’s own Spartan methods on teaching himself music he had accomplished writing and reading compositions at only ten years of age, and by thirteen he was already playing drums, guitars, piano, fluidly and gracefully. However it was not just his talent with instruments that had landed him in the position he was today, but rather the beautiful melody he had accomplished with his voice.

With a guitar in hand he step out from behind the curtain and onto the stage of his junior high school, hearing the MC call his name, and his school mates clapping and cheering for him.  
                Then, the angel would sing.

Singing like an angel was not even the right word to describe it, but Elijah had settled for that word as a stage name. Through this, his life as the renegade street rat would be forgotten in the past and traded for his shot at the big time. Elijah wanted to be rid of any suffering he face, he believed deserved more, and Angel deserved to be seen by the world and worshiped! Not sitting alone watching a pathetic woman drown herself in pity; disgusting disgrace of a human. To think that Elijah came from her thoroughly repulsed him.

  
It was not until he had been in his final year of middle school that he caught his big break though. Elijah did not have any friends and rarely socialized with anyone. And so when the option of trying out for a school talent show would solve all his problems he had taken full advantage of the situation. It was the answer to his prayers.  
Not that he prayed anymore, however this still remained the answer.

  
Elijah dressed up for the occasion, grabbing his guitar. Which he of course stole; funny story that was. He started taking his mothers bottles that she would throw at him and took them to the beer store to trade them in. Outside one day there was a woman playing guitar with her case wide open and a few dollars generously tossed in. Elijah gave the woman the money he received for the bottles and began making conversation with her. He would smile and politely nod his head, when she offered to let him see her guitar he gladly agreed. It was pure luck that sirens from some cars went off and a man ran away from it. The guitar girl decided to play hero, leaving Elijah to hold onto her precious instrument. While the girl was busy chasing the thief through the parking lot, the other thief –Elijah- just walked away with the guitar and case in hand full of almost one-hundred dollars in loose change.  
He was nine.

His mother had found the guitar within weeks of his conquest. The young boy tried so hard to keep her from destroying it that he came away from the incident with numerous scars and bruises, nail marks up and down his arms, and even bites marks.  Elijah had lain on the floor not shedding a single tear as his mother ranted on about how her precious little boy had become nothing more than a filthy street mongrel. How he had been reduced to stealing. How hypocritical, Elijah had thought to himself as he lay there watching her knock things from his dresser and strings of drool dropped from her mouth onto the floor. His mother had never hesitated in stealing his money, so how could Elijah possibly be wrong in taking something from someone he did not even know nor did he ever intend to see again. Though even with such little time of keeping the guitar hidden away –that measly little week- he had been able to get in a few strums and notes, learning what each string sounded like when he positioned his fingers in various ways, Elijah had no technical terms for what he was doing. He was young and inexperienced, purely basing his knowledge on the vast amount of TV guitarists, mimicking their movements. When the guitar was gone he would still practice the motions, the positions. Elijah had taught himself the basic cords and hummed along the sounds each chord had made, eventually combining them to create his very first score of music. He did not write it down however, he felt no need to nor did he understand why he would have to.  

The boy had no stage fright. This was another thing he was never really taught nor did he ever have to experience. He only knew that he wanted to make something of his musical knowledge and knew that his schools talent show was into things like this, and Elijah being the quiet type to not really know anyone or associated with anyone took advantage of this opportunity. The audition however did not go well. The school thought Elijah was weird and was wary of him and his awkward behaviour. He was always very socially withdrawn and found very little attachments to anyone in the class. He would never fake a smile for anyone new or wanting his attention, and he was never the type to get overjoyed with the rest of the class when the teacher decided that instead of lecturing they would show a movie. He would just sit in his seat and strum his invisible guitar and mumble incoherently to himself. The teachers never caught onto this and he was not very overzealous with his actions and thus was never told to stop. Elijah had been called down to the principal’s office due to his social withdrawal, the school had wanted him to make friends but he would continue to say he had friends they just did not go to the same school and he did not very much appreciate the rest of the class’s opinions on his friends.

Walking into the crowded streets would make his throat clamp up but still a friendly smile would grace his lips. Elijah would raise his hand if someone yelled out to him and he would slowly wave it in affirmation. However he didn’t speak. Most of the screams were from women anyways, women he had absolutely no interest in, women he had wished would just pass out in the street so that the cars would run their bodies over.  Elijah shook his head from those thoughts in his brain. He rarely took his medication anymore, and could clearly envision the scene playing out on the empty road in front of him. What was so wrong with him that these thoughts would actually appeal to him, that they would tickle some dark desire inside of him and make him see stars.

The streetlight flashed green and the people pressed firmly onto the gas pedal to move their cars forward, and then the foolish Angel fan-girls shuffling from heat exhaustion or being pushed by a magnificent great beast of yellow that huffed out fumes from its back-end, the woman forcing their way into the middle of the intersection just to get slammed by the onset of early morning traffic, this beast. These thoughts were not abnormal. Especially when women were involved; Elijah hated women. Not just because of his mother’s obviously loving influence on him from an early age but because of how easy they all would fall for him. As opposed to members of similar sex all it would take to sell a few records to these blind girls was a friendly smile and some well put together pieces of clothing. Elijah was good at manipulating them, this was who he was. However, when they even reacted in a way he was uncomfortable with or in a way he was not expecting, or even entering his personal space, his delusions would kick in and he could see their deaths. For sure though, nothing had ever happened to them. Guaranteed.

 

“Angel, tell us about this new song you are writing!” the man pressed and edged closer to his microphone. His posture suggested that he was almost frozen with suspense. He held onto every last syllable Angel had said since he had entered the studio, the young boy held a presence wherever he went not just on the stage, he would engage the room with a innocent side glance, and a quirky little smile that just made all the young girls scream. This became his trademark.

 Although small in stature Angel was a true beauty and his skin glowed as though he were a little fairy prince. He bore a youthful appearance, and having been blessed with extremely delicate features, small lips, tiny little ears, a very well rounded chin with adorable pudgy cheeks. His face was completely framed by the styled mess of blonde hair, with slightly darker low-lights along the tips. His stylist had stated that the darker colouring would give him a more edgy appearance to his natural angelic beauty. Multi-coloured bobby pins held bits of his hair in place, but mostly kept his bangs from falling into his large round green eyes. His looks were than richly complimented by the high fashion trend setting clothing he wore; all big named labels from various sponsors. On his ear however was a very distinct angel wing cuffed around his cartilage. It was silver in colour and the feathers were spread looking as if it was about to take flight. The pierce was custom made. 

This was the appearance of Angel; the teen idol who had grasped the hearts of millions worldwide of all ages, nationality and gender.

But it was not Elijah. As soon as that faithful day at the school talent show, where Basil Martin had locked his sights on the young talented prodigy, Elijah was forced to keep up the pretense of being an absolute doll, a picture of complete innocence. An Angel.

 

“I would love to share the song with you sir, but you see even I do not know what it is going to be about!” Angel gave a little laugh, his hand pushing his hair delicately behind his ears, exposing a single small wing piercing dangling from it.

“So the rumors are not true then. What a shame!”

“I apologize,” Angel spoke sincerely. He was always excited to share his talents, never was he conflicted or lacking any confidence. As was the curse of being the star of entertainment industry he had a overly large ego due to his position and the public just fed it. “However, I did come here today to share some news with you.”

“Oh! Do tell!” The journalist replied, fidgeting a little in his chair. Obviously he was just as excited to hear the famous Angel’s news and having the opportunity to be the first person to broadcast the information’s. The listeners outside the station right now gathering at the windows with their cell phones pressed against the glass were even more eager to hear the news.

“I will be going on a tour around North America in a month. It will be pretty low-key, just small venues. I really want to reach out to my true fans.” Angel pulled the microphone closer. “However, my final show on the tour, I will be announcing via twitter closer to the date that we will be hosting a show in a much large venue; with thousands of tickets available.”

The crowd of girls screams could be heard through the glass. Finally the elusive Angel would be hosting a tour, something that had been on the fans wish list from the boy for months. Angel would finally be on a stage and be able to perform for people. And any true fan would be at those shows. It was not just the fans that were excited; Angel too wanted nothing more than to perform on the stage again. His manager had tried so hard to keep him out of the public eye for so long. He really wanted to retain that innocence that Angel’s voice and lyrics conveyed. He did not sing about love and relationships but rather the beauty of the world he would see. Songs of people helping others in the streets, song about abuse victims getting the help they deserve and songs about people overcoming their own personal demons. This was why his music was able to touch so many, because of its unconventional themes for modern day pop. He was able to keep up the image of appearing like the poster child for selling out to the corporate industry, but his music still carried a heavy message that was able to keep up the pretense of helping others. Because of his music various fans had spawned charities in his name to help with different areas of society in which Angel sung about. There were new crisis centers and help lines all over. Even people in other countries were war was rampant had heard his music and decided to step up to try and help in whatever way they could.

It was almost utopian and Angel relished in this. Basil at first had stated that these places would just feed the boys ego, but if anything Angel was taken aback by it all. He himself had never pictured himself to be as saintly as these people seemed to portray him as, but none-the-less these fans continued on inspired by his words and songs.

With a little more discussion over the progress of Angel’s new album the interview ended and Angel was excused. The fans at the window watched eagerly as the boy left the room. They were standing on their tippy toes and crouched low to the ground looking between each other legs to just merely catch a glimpse of the boy leaving. When he was finally out of sight the crowd instantly dissolved, the radio station followed up the interview playing one of Angel’s songs a few fans could be caught mouthing the lyrics quietly with their friends.

Angel however was being guided back to the car by Basil. Basil was uttering a few things to him about where they were to be heading next. Maybe to the studio, maybe finally for lunch, he was kind-of getting a bit hungry and he could not really work on an empty stomach. He was about to mention this to Basil before the older man said something that caught his attention.

“You got a fan letter today. No return address.”

Angel smiled up at Basil who reached into his pocket and pulled the letter out. The boy took it and ripped it open instantly.

Now normally fan letters are not usually received this eagerly but the fact that this one had no return address was a familiar sign to Angel. It was from someone, someone that Angel had truly been interested in hearing from day after day. He had been getting these letters for months. Ever since his first single and at the beginning they had disturbed him out with their ambiguity. Even back then Angel hated reading the fan mail, but had been forced to by Basil as some sort of exercise to learn how to socialize with his fans better –he was quite rude back then-. But quickly Angel had decided to embrace this unnamed correspondent and had actually counted on these letters as some sort of security blanket.

Angel quickly looked over the text and flashed a smile at the words.

_Dear Angel_

_How are you?_

That was all there was, and Angel was quick to want to return to his room to begin to write a response to the letter. Even though he had no one he could send the response too he still had tried to respond to it. He had used this anonymous person as a way to convey what he truly felt about his career.  He had become Elijah through these response letters and being able to strip over the costume that was Angel that he was forced into being 24/7 felt amazing. His only wish was that this person had given him an address where he could respond.

“Angel, we are taking you back to your apartment right now. I’m cancelling everything else on the schedule, giving you the afternoon off.” Basil called to him from the driver’s side of the car. Angel looked up from the letter and nodded in affirmation.

So he was being given the afternoon to himself. Excellent, more time to concentrate on writing.

Basil’s phone was ringing in his pocket and he took it out, answering it only after the first wrong.

“Yo,” he commented placing the phone between his cheek and shoulder and placing his hand back on the steering wheel. Angel looked out the tinted window wishing that the traffic would clear faster so that he could get back to his apartment faster. He stared into the other car, swearing that he saw the face of the other driver looking at him with absolutely no eyes. He was not disturbed by it, but rather fascinated. He continued to stare even when the car moved up a little, the featureless face continuing to watch him. When Angel blinked the face disappeared and it was just the back of a woman’s head, as far as he could make out. He was disgruntled that the strange apparition disappeared. “You called the police first, right?”

Angel was then pulled out of his daydreaming and looked over at Basil with large interested eyes. Police? What were the police being called for? He was about to ask when Basil put up a hand to stop him. Angel was getting annoyed. He did not like being told to remain quiet, nor did the boy have the patients.

“Well you idiot don’t call me then. Call them right now!” With that Basil hung up and did not meet Angel eyes. He was actually trying to avoid telling the boy.

“Tell me.” Angel persisted.

“What did that letter say?” Basil asked, no curiosity at all in his voice. He was trying to change the subject.

“None of your business. What are the police being called for? Who died?”

“What makes you think someone is dead,” Basil looked over at the boy now, eye brow raised. Briefly his eyes flashed down to the open letter in Angel’s lap. Angel did not answer the question and just continued staring at Basil. The boy did not even look the least bit worried about the situation, just generally curious. And because of that Basil just turned away and returned his focus to the road.

Angel was clearly being ignored, and he was not happy. Or rather Elijah wasn’t. Angel was the perfect one, why would he care about a murder. No Elijah cared. Elijah needed to know. If Basil knew then of course Elijah should know. Basil was Elijah’s manager, it was thanks to Elijah that Basil was even able to be sitting here today getting the money he is. He should be grateful to Elijah, not hiding things and keeping him in the dark. He doubted his anonymous stranger would keep him in the dark.

But that anonymous stranger was keeping Elijah in the dark, and that was when Elijah realized that. He had poured out his soul to this unknown individual and albeit these secrets and everything Elijah was and is never reached he but he still felt completely bare writing these things down. He felt as though the faceless person was reading them and analyzing and judging him without Elijah getting anything in return but a mere _How are you?_ Elijah was damn right angry, even more so. Right now thoughts of Basil ignoring him were completely out the window and thoughts on his anonymous stranger and what he was going to write about tonight was at the forefront of Elijah’s mind. He was going to get a name; he was going to get a face, and a motive.

Elijah would find out who this person was even if it killed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter up! Finally.   
> Elijah is such a fun character to write. 
> 
> Check out vox-angel.tumblr.com  
> for any random notes or out-takes on this story and songs that throughout the writing process have become my muse.

            He was back in his apartment.

            Elijah lay along his couch and twisted a strand of hair around his finger. He pulled it up away from his face and dropped it back down. A strange rhythm in his head drove this repetitive movement on. Maybe he was composing a new song? Not likely. The boredom in his eyes and general lack of any motivation had totally made Elijah unable to move from his awkward sprawl on the couch; his legs spread out, one up along the back of the couch while his other lay on the floor. He thought about the letter, about the phone call, about his songs, about the fans pressing their faces against the window at the station, and about the neon signs waving in the wind and sounds of the shrill cries of ‘Angel! I love you! Marry me!’

            Elijah sighed and repositioned himself to be a bit more comfortable. His leg swung so fast together that he almost kicked the glass of water off the table. It wobbled a bit before simply just settling down like Elijah was now. The young boy was trying so very hard to keep calm, but he wasn’t the type to hide his emotions very well. Often the boy would be calm, and sit there just spacing off, but that was an act and usually his mind would be running a mile a minute. Other times he would be reading something on his phone, endlessly scrolling through mind numbing blogs, or maybe watching TV until Basil called him telling him he was stopping by with food.

However, right now was worse than usual and the thought of being calm was just making him more anxious. His emotions were going haywire and the feeling of pure anger and even a bit of jealousy was coursing through his veins.  He hated being left out of the loop and because Basil refused to hurt precious little Angel's innocent ears, being out of the loop was exactly what he was.

            And as if Elijah was perfect, or the least bit protected

            He could turn on the news and hear horrible things going in the world, of woman in the streets getting raped, of children dying in foreign countries, or of a man getting his expensive BMW broken in too, his entire identity being stolen.

But that wasn't all that bothered him.

Elijah looked down at the letter on the table and proceeded to scowl at it. It was closed and calling to him in its weird silently mocking way.

_Dear Angel_

_How are you?_

 

 There was no return address. He couldn’t actually reply to the letter. Furthermore, quelling the desires of his fans and satisfying them with a response was absolutely beneath him. So why would anything change for this anonymous writer.

With that thought Elijah was done with the issue.  He rolled over on the couch, his face pressed into the tall back. He let out a groan as his nose was squished. Not even a second later he spun around again and picked up the remote for the TV, flipping it on and turning the volume up loud enough to annoy his neighbors. If he had any that is.

He doesn't really know, he did not associate with them, and they did not try to associate with him either. Elijah stared at the TV, the remote balancing on his thigh as today’s news flashed across the screen. Something caught his eye under the weather lady.

The black and white text briefly flashed by for a few seconds, long enough though for the young boy to read.

_‘Police looking for suspect of female homicide at Bay Entertainment.’_

There it was. The answer to the question he asked early. The reason Basil had been so secretive. Elijah was right after all. Someone had died. He smirked.

 Pure arrogance rolled off Elijah as he stared at the screen, of course he was right. Every fiber in his being knew something bad had happened. Basil had never looked or acted like that towards any bad news. It was really pathetic honestly; it was probably just a body dump on the property, which was not that uncommon for the neighborhood. Bay was located in quite possibly the sketchiest place downtown. Elijah lifted himself off the couch and made his way across the stretch of room into the kitchen. He took a used glass out of the sink and turned on the tap, filling it up with water. Heading back to the couch he put the glass down on the table, beside the letter. The droplets of water trickled down the side of the glass forming rings on the wood and spreading into the letter. Elijah just watched it.

            He had one of his curiosities satisfied, but this letter he still ached for.

            The craving to read this unknown persons words over and over, and the respond to the letters was overwhelming. Elijah had thought the anonymous stranger would result in being a diary to write all his perfect little thoughts in. Although, frustration grew inside his head even more and forcefully dropped his foot to the ground. It hit the wooden floor board quite hard and the little glass bobbles around the room atop their shelves wobbled in place. He glanced over to the bobbles, watching them teeter back into place, preparing himself to catch any that fell. Tilting his head to the side, almost amused by the movement from the bobbles

            It was a bit strange. Only after turning the TV off had it occurred to Elijah that the only piece of news he had actually seen was that little bit of text rolling by as none of the news casters had mentioned the report. Even though Bay was located in such a crime rampant area it was still a place highly respected and quite rich. The news should technically be buzzing with information. Elijah wondered if by now they had a culprit, or if they were still investigating the studio for clues. Bay could have paid them off though, forcing them to stop any media coverage.

He reached for his phone, pulling up his search engine. The first ten or so results bared nothing of interest and he closed the app quickly.     

Very strange.

Elijah rolled his eyes towards the TV. He was absolutely bored.

Staring at his own blank face that reflected in the TV, he tried to ignore the little voices in his head telling him over and over, threatening him, to smash his head into the glass coffee table at his feet. Those same voices became clouded over with a multitude of questions about the murder, _how had it happened_. Elijah’s mouth twitched, his eyes closing as he tried to take in deep breaths. Those voices were so loud and so demanding for attention. He could feel his head starting to pound.

“Will you not.” He called out to no one, pleading. Elijah was responding to the voices. They did not make much sense as he was not one-hundred and ten percent concentrated on them, but he could still understand what they were saying. His hand came up to his face and he scratched along his cheek with his long un-manicured nails. Little red lines appeared where his nails trailed over the dry skin.

When his eyes opened again he stared off and listened. His mouth was moving at rapid speeds, continuing his response but now whispering back to the voices. It was nonsensical, gibberish. But the voices seemed to understand him, relaying back answers, conversing with him.

As if in a trance Elijah’s foot fell against the ground again, slamming so rough that bobbles on the shelf fell to the floor, smashing into pieces. With the bobbles a bottle of pills spilled over and burst open when it collided with the ground.

"Shit!" 

He moved to pick up the shards of glass and pricked himself on the finger in a panic. A droplet of blood fell from the cut onto the pure white pills. He tried to pick up the pills with his now bloody fingers and forcing them back into the bottle, somehow creating an even bigger mess as the blood now marred the white lid. Then the door bell rang at that moment, forcing another curse word from the boy’s lips. He dropped the shards to the floor, along with the sealed bottle of pills and stuck his cut finger in his mouth, running for the door. When he opened the door he was not surprised to see Basil.

"Hey kid, I brought dinner." However, the arrival of the man who had so pissed him off earlier was not very welcomed in his own opinion, and Elijah had to hold back the urge to slam the door in Basil's face. Although, instead he smiled up at the man and moved aside, allowing him entry. The smell of warm Chinese food tickled his taste buds and any thoughts of kicking Basil out after he puts the bag of food on the table drifted from his mind.  Basil never looked at Elijah directly and seemed to be pointedly avoiding Elijah’s curious expression. He looked over at the broken bobble and the small droplet of blood on the white lament floor. The pills Elijah managed to hide. Basil made his way across Elijah’s tiny apartment to find the hand held vacuum, covered in dust.  Of course the boy never bothered using it.

It was not that Elijah was messy, but he just did not create mess. His dishes would end up in the sink or dishwasher, his clothes in the laundry and his dirty shoes he would keep on the mat at the front door. His apartment, for the most part, just appeared as if no one lived in it.

Now in the kitchen Elijah dug through the drawer to find a fork. He could not for the life of him use chop sticks, no matter how many times he had found himself being prompted to use them.  Only, after sitting down and digging into the food did Elijah meet Basil's eyes.

The older man again looked away abruptly. He was focused on the now turned on TV.

"Oi! Old man." Elijah barked through the noodle filled mouth. "Fill me in on what happened."

“Happened?” Basil raised an eyebrow, a little smile appearing on his face. He was playing dumb.

“Yes, on the call from earlier, and what happened over at Bay that got you looking like someone just punched you in the balls.” How the boy had managed to talk with the large mouthful of food he had stuffed in his mouth was a mystery.

Basil glanced over at Elijah through the corner of his eye, witnessing the sight before him. He chuckled a little. There was sauce on the boy’s nose and noodles hanging from his mouth. He gripped his fork in the palm of his hand, not the least bit graceful. "If your fans saw this sight, the whole perfect prince fantasy would be completely destroyed."

Elijah slurped up the mouth full of noodles, swallowing quickly. "You say that as if I care."

"Don't give me that attitude. You know as well as I do that that front is pretty much what keeps you fed, sheltered, and safe." The man turned to face the TV again, popping an egg roll into his mouth.

"Are you saying that I have no talent?" Elijah gawked.

"You have immense talent. The world just does not care about that anymore. They care about you as a person, as an Angel."

Elijah scoffed, shoving another fork full of noodle into his mouth, his bangs falling into his eyes. "Whatever. You avoided my question."

"What happened at the studio is being taken care of by the police and is of no concern to you or us." Basil said in a professional tone. Elijah put his fork down and glared at the man. It made rational sense, but Elijah just could not live with that. He just was unable to sit back and just take it without knowing. He wasn't concerned for the girl who had died, he wasn't concerned for the killer, and he wasn't even concerned if he was a potential target. Elijah was merely interested; in how everything occurred, how had it looked to the police when they first approached the scene. Was it bloody? Was it not? Was it a clean kill, or was it just an accident. He needed to know every little bit of detail; the information was needed as much as oxygen. Why could Basil not understand that?

"You need to understand Elijah. There are just something’s you can't get in life."

"Don't give me that bullshit." He stood up quickly, knocking his chair over in the process. "You tell me everything, you give me everything! You're hiding this from me because you believe me to be some innocent little boy. Well here's a news flash asshole; I'm not. That’s just some stupid pretense you and your marketing committee came up with. I'm a fucking messed up young adult who is hyped up on so many anti-depressants that the only time I ever feel something is when it’s a tragedy!"

Basil still did not look at Elijah.

"And you can't even look at me when I'm like this. What too afraid to face the truth that the worlds precious little Angel is actually a mentally unstable teenager? Has the fantasy blinded you too Basil." Elijah looked down at the floor. His lips were trembling and it was hard to hold his angry expression as his mouth starting twitching into a frown he was unable to hold back. His eyes were not watering though, he wasn't about to cry. Elijah was just so upset with everything and his emotions were currently at the forefront of his brain, controlling his actions. His instability made it impossible for him to bite his tongue. Although, thinking about the _how's_ and _what's_ about the murders this time, and the general concern about life or death and the worry that it could have been him, Elijah’s curiosity was replaced by an unnaturally large amount of guilt. He chanced to look up at Basil again, who had cautiously turned his eyes on the younger boy. "Am I really this fucked up?"

Basil contemplated comforting the boy. But his professionalism and general wariness of Elijah's response had stopped him. In the past the boy would retreat instantly from anyone who touched him. Even the handshake they had done when they arranged his ten year contract with the company Elijah hissed at. Plus, he doubted Elijah would want any words as comfort. The boy seemed to hate when people tried to patronize him.

However, something needed to be done about Elijah's emotional rollercoaster. If it carried on the boy might end up acting like this in front of other people one day. So far it was only him and few of his really close staff members who knew of Elijah's episodes, of his breakdowns.

"I think, you should see someone."

But Elijah wasn't listening. His thoughts were clouding his mind and he was not able to process what Basil had said. He hadn't looked away from the man so he saw the man’s lips move, but he was completely unable to actually understand what he was saying.

"W-What?" Elijah managed to stutter out.

"I'm going to book you an appointment with a psychiatrist."

"You're going to what?!" Elijah's eyes widened and he sized up Basil instantly. He curled his fingers around themselves, balling them up so that he could hold himself back from throttling the man for even suggesting such an action. "Please don't. Anything but that! Just get me some more anti-depressants, or some other prescription drug." The desperation in Elijah's voice was thick. He had been down this road before, several times. However, he believed himself to be far better now, far older and far more capable to take care of himself. He was only really like this with Basil who had been with him pretty much every step of the way, so what was there to worry about? Right? A short smile appeared on Elijah's lips. His eyes however were not touched by the grin, and he looked as though someone had completely destroyed him. "I-I can't deal with another person inside my head!"

The room seemed to grow darker while Basil just stared at the boy, calculating his words ever so carefully in his head. Maybe the man should have approached the subject more delicately, discussed it more subtly. The eyes Elijah made, the look of absolute pure desperation that pooled inside them was almost enough to make Basil consider other options. But the truth is Basil had. He had been mulling over many different options for the boy for weeks, and honestly this was the only thing he could come up with that would suit everyone. People at Bay had had enough of dealing with his frequent outbursts and temper. Furthermore, he was actually getting violent with some of the woman. Even Basil himself was slowly becoming unable to talk to the boy calmly and without fear anymore.

“I’m sorry Elijah, but if you want to continue your career, this is what you have to do.” Basil looked the boy straight in the eye, something in them had changed. “I know what you have been through, and I know simply talking about it won’t change it. But perhaps talking about it will provide you with some sort of outlet for your anger as opposed to just taking it out on the people around you.”

“My outlet is my music, and you know that. And yet you still want to take that away from me? What kind of manager are you? Aren’t you big times supposed to be leeching any amount of dollar you can get off me?” Elijah scoffed, furiously pushing himself up from the table. “Do not expect me to go through these plans of yours willingly.”

“But do you concede?”

“Not willingly.”

“Excellent. I’ll sent up the appointment for next week.” It grated Elijah to know that Basil was so pleased with getting his own way. Usually it was the other way around for the two, Elijah was the manipulative one, however this time Basil seemed to be a step ahead of the boy. Using Elijah’s career was underhanded and quite possibly the most devastating thing for Elijah to lose. He turned away from Basil and looked across his apartment to the open window, blindly staring into the sunset over the horizon. The mixtures of purple and yellow dancing across his vision while he quietly hummed a rift from one of his songs as Basil cleaned up the dishes behind him. He paid no heed to the man and just drifted off into his own world; a world where all that existed was the calm twilight sky, and the glaring words from the letter that still plagued in the back of his mind.

_Dear Angel_

_How are you?_

 

“I’m fine.” He whispered to himself. “I am fine.”


End file.
